


Lost Resort

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keny’uu escapes from the Red Army and certain death and, in the process, finds someone he may be willing to risk his life for. Set in 1972.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Resort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekaiseifuku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseifuku/gifts).



> Written for the Saiyuki 7th Night gift!fic exchange on Dreamwidth. With much gratitude to my betas, samsarapine and kis.

Keny'uu kept running long after the only sounds he could hear were his boots crunching the snow, his mouth gasping for air, and his pulse pounding in his ears. His throat and lungs were burning, but his survival instinct far outweighed the discomfort. He stopped only when he could no longer run, when every muscle in his body ached, and his glasses were fogged from perspiration. The silence that followed played tricks on his ears. He thought he heard the others whispering behind the trees that surrounded him. He turned round several times in succession, making a small circle of footprints in the snow, but could see nothing except the black tree trunks; they stood like silent sentinels against faded grey of the snow-covered Mount Asama.

When he was convinced that no one had followed him, Keny'uu began to walk purposefully in the same direction he’d been running. It was slow going as the snow was deeper, so deep that it encased his feet and his legs to the shins with each step.  It soon became apparent that in his haste to escape, he’d erred. Not just one little mistake, but a series of missteps that, as he thought about them, would probably lead to his death.

He weighed the factors quite rationally, falling back on his scientific training. For one, he was obviously lost in the primeval forest. The resort he believed he was roughly heading towards when he’d fled the encampment had not yet materialized, nor had any other signs of civilization. And, even if he did come across someone, Keny'uu knew he couldn’t count on any help; most of the local population were probably terrified of the revolutionaries who’d been hiding in the surrounding mountains; they wouldn’t stop to help a ragged-looking young stranger.

Their terror was well-placed, too. Hiroka had been coming unhinged for weeks. His punishments for even the slightest infractions had become more and more vicious as his sanity had unraveled. Keny'uu’s survival instincts had kicked in when he’d overheard talk that Hiroka was very displeased that certain members didn’t really have their hearts in the movement. Keny’uu knew his name would be at the top of Hiroka’s little black list.

He’d left the camp with little more than the clothes on his back, which, during the cold February days, had been barely adequate for keeping warm. Now, as dusk settled into night, frigid winds cut razor-sharp through his thin denim coat and the layers of clothing beneath -- a wool sweater over thermal underwear. Snowmelt had long ago managed to soak his feet until they ached from the icy cold. 

Keny'uu wasn’t concerned that he had no provisions (not that he was hungry, and the snow all around him ensured he wouldn’t die of thirst anytime soon); he’d been foraging in the wilderness for weeks and knew there was plenty of nutrition hidden beneath the blanket of snow. His most pressing concerns were the brutal cold and the fact that he had nothing to start a fire with.

He kept moving forward, repeating “one foot in front of the other” over and over long after he lost feeling below the knees. At least if he froze to death it would be on his terms.   
He began to hallucinate. Hiroka joined him -- a devil on his left shoulder -- haranguing him over his disloyalty. And then Hiroka morphed into Keny'uu’s father, who picked up where the other left off, belittling him for his stupidity, his laziness, his lack of a moral compass. All of these were valid criticisms, but he didn’t need to hear them.

“Look, I graduated with a PhD last year, at seventeen!”

“And what have you to show for it? A pair of ice cubes for feet,” his old man scoffed. “Because you’re running away, like a coward.”

“It’s called self-preservation.” Now that was ironic, he thought.   
His father laughed his deep belly-laugh and turned into a bee. It buzzed Keny'uu and he began to run. It stung him over and over again on the tops of his feet and his calves. Up ahead, Keny'uu saw the turquoise waters of a swimming pool; the overpowering scent of chlorine filled his nostrils, burning the sensitive tissue that lined his nose. Somewhere along his mad dash, he’d shed his clothes and now he leapt, naked, into the cool water in order to escape his merciless bee-father.

He sank to the bottom of the pool and opened his eyes, realizing too late that he was still wearing his glasses. They were no help at all against the blindingly bright tiles that lined the pool. The water was surprisingly cold, his teeth began to chatter and he struggled toward the surface to no avail. His lungs began to burn as he continued to hold his breath. He tried to flail his arms and legs wildly but they were leaden anchors. 

“Ah, fuck it,” he mumbled, and then, as his field of vision narrowed to a small pin-prick he thought somewhat detachedly, _this is what it’s like to die_.

* * *

“Hey! You there, are you alright?”

Something moist and warm snuffled Keny'uu’s ear. He tried to make his mouth work but the only sound that came out was a muffled “Mmpf.” He was face-down, floating in the pool. Somehow he was breathing, though.

The warm thing whined and then something with teeth tugged forcefully at Keny'uu’s collar, rolling him onto his back. He opened his eyes to blinding, diffuse light; either he’d lost his glasses or they were fogged over. He remembered then, he was lost in the Jōshin'etsu-kōgen forest. It was February and it was cold.

“Ah! You’re alive!”

Either way, even with his poor eyesight, Keny'uu could make out the huge head of a wolf-like animal. What he couldn’t make sense of though, was why it was talking to him in a voice that should have belonged to a man. He was still hallucinating.

“Go ‘way,” he said weakly.

“Hm, you seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of trouble,” the wolf panted. 

Keny’uu tried to dispute that but he was only able to manage a “Nngh.” 

He considered that he might be dead, then grimaced as warm, moist, dog-breath blew into his face. He tried to bat the creature away but his arms refused to move; his legs were equally as stubborn.

“Did the cat get your tongue?”

Keny’uu had never given much thought to the afterlife, but what little contemplation he’d done on that topic hadn’t included smart-assed talking dogs.

“Well, we might as well take him home. What do you say?”

The dog whined a reply before moving aside revealing an impossibly tall and impossibly thin human figure. Seconds later, Keny’uu added ‘impossibly strong’ to that description when hands gripped his wrists and he was being pulled upright.

"It would be easier if you could help me out," the not-dog said, "but I think you're nearly frozen into a popsicle. We’d best get you warmed up, it's not very far."

The next thing Keny'uu knew he was being draped over someone's back. That someone had the softest hair and it smelled of sandalwood and patchouli, two scents that Keny'uu usually associated with dirty hippies, but at the moment, in his addled state, he couldn't stop inhaling the aroma. He buried his head against a warm neck and drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming about a hot sun and tropical drinks served in coconut shells decorated with paper umbrellas.

* * *

Keny’uu felt as as if he were floating in a womb. Soothing warmth enveloped him and the back of his eyelids glowed red until he opened them. The ceiling above his head was striated with rough-hewn beams. A fire crackled in a fireplace somewhere off to his right. Turning his head to the left, he saw the other half of a large futon, the covers thrown back. Someone had slept with him. Disjointed memories began to coalesce in his mind, and he tried to decipher what had been real and what he'd been hallucinating.

It soon proved too difficult a task. He drifted in and out of a light sleep, the sounds outside his room floating in and out of his consciousness: American phrases mingled with the incessant sound of a Japanese news broadcaster, just muffled enough that Keny’uu couldn’t make out what was being said, but loud enough to keep him wakeful.

The noise increased for a moment and then subsided. 

"Ah, Ukoku! You're finally awake." A voice spoke before Keny’uu registered that someone had come into his room.

He startled to an upright position and the comforter that had been covering him fell away, revealing his bare chest. He lifted up the satin edge of the blanket and peered beneath long enough to see that he was naked then hastily patted it down. He glanced around and found his glasses neatly folded on the low table beside him.

“You look much better than you did yesterday.”

“Ukoku?” Keny’uu echoed, donning his eyeglasses before glancing over at the intruder. He was a tall, thin, middle-aged man who wore an impossibly long, thick blond braid over his left shoulder. 

“Oh, I made that up -- something to call you by. You don’t remember me asking your name?”

Keny’uu shook his head slowly.

“You named me?” he asked incredulously. “That’s just weird.”

“Ha! You were lost in the forest freezing to death in a thin denim jacket, and I’m ‘weird?’ Pot, meet kettle. Or rather, Koumyou.” He bowed irreverently, then paused expectantly, his head tilted up to face Keny’uu.

Keny’uu stared at him dumbly, as a tumble of disjointed images flashed in his mind a swirl of dream-like vignettes.  He examined his wrist and found two long bruises that probably matched the delicate fingers of Koumyou’s hand and recalled Koumyou’s effortless strength.

“You do remember your name ...” Koumyou prompted.

Keny’uu thought about it for a second. Something told him that it might be better to plead amnesia.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave his best confused expression. “I guess I’ll go with ‘Ukoku,’” he said.  “So, where am I?”

Koumyou sat on the edge of the futon and faced Keny’uu. 

“This is the Redwood Inn and Spa. You’re in my quarters because all my guestrooms are let for the season.”

He was relieved that Koumyou fell for his act so easily. 

“The Redwood Inn?” Keny’uu repeated. It wasn’t the name of the inn he’d set out for. Hell it didn’t even sound like it belonged in Japan.

“When I was younger, I spent a good deal of time in California,” Koumyou explained, leaving Keny’uu to puzzle out how that translated into the Westernized name of the place.

"You must be hungry! The main seating for lunch is over so the dining room should be quiet. If you'd like to get refreshed, there’s a private bath through that doorway." Koumyou pointed across the room, and Keny’uu took a moment to take in his surroundings. It was a large space, and though it was sparsely decorated, the wall hangings all looked to be original, modern art. The furniture all seemed to be mid-century American in perfect shape, and Keny'uu, who enjoyed aesthetically pleasing things, was full of grudging admiration, because there was a surprising harmony between the blend of traditional Japanese interiors and the clean lines of the Western design. 

He was ready to get out of bed but he stopped himself. 

"Clothes?" he asked. 

Koumyou beamed at him indulgently then stood up, his movements as graceful as a panther. 

He was an intriguing character. In sharp contrast to the decor, Koumyou was wearing a traditional silk kimono. The fabric started out around his collarbone as a deep teal that graduated into an even deeper purple by the time it grazed the tops of his feet. A burnt orange band of silk hemmed the entire garment and it was finished with ornately hand-embroidered koi. The rich colors served as sharp relief for Koumyou’s silvery-blond hair. Keny’uu’s fingers twitched with the thought of undoing the hefty plait. 

Koumyou’s outfit seemed strangely out of place -- archaic. _Koumyou_ seemed strangely out of place, like a man out of time.

Koumyou rummaged through the drawers of a long, low dresser that fit perfectly between two windows and came up with a simple yukata and a pair of geta, still wrapped in plastic, that he offered to Keny'uu. The robe was indigo-colored and made of cotton that was velvety soft from laundering. 

"This will have to do," he said apologetically before taking his leave and allowing Keny'uu his privacy.

Keny’uu didn’t expect the private bath to have its own hot spring-fed tub, but it did, a large, squat, wooden one that resembled an oversized masu. The water was cloudy with mineral salts and smelled vaguely sulfurous, but it was inviting just the same, especially since he’d been camping for the past month and no one had been allowed to make use of any of the mineral springs they’d come upon. Hiroka had said they were the ‘opiates of the masses.’ As were, apparently, television and toilet paper, and any number of creature comforts. Keny’uu was sure that soap had been on Hiroka’s personal list, given how smelly he’d been lately; or maybe it was bathing in general that he’d turned against. Keny’uu had found Hiroka’s pseudo-Marxist philosophy both derivative and banal; already at that point, he’d begun to suspect that his leader simply enjoyed his own brutality. 

Opposite the tub was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto what Keny’uu supposed was a small private garden when it wasn’t covered with nearly a meter of snow. Mount Asama rose majestically as a backdrop; for a second Keny’uu thought he detected a wisp of smoke coming off the volcano, but when he took a second look it was gone.

After washing up, he settled into the bath and contemplated his situation. He had been saved from freezing to death by an eccentric old man and who lived in a pretty cushy ryokan. A popular one, if he judged by the hum of conversation and the fact that Koumyou had told him all the rooms were rented. This was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, he could just blend in for a while and stay on until he’d worn down Koumyou’s generosity, but on the other, he could bring danger to the spa should Hiroka or any of the others who remained loyal to him happen upon the place. Keny’uu shuddered at that, then shuddered again when he wondered what Koumyou would think of him should he find out that, up until very recently, he was very much a part of a group that had been terrorizing much of the nation.

It became apparent that neither of those options would be available to Keny’uu when he made his way to the dining room. The building was small enough that he would have been able to find it on his own, but there were hand-written signs posted discretely in several languages to guide him. Koumyou was right, few guests were eating lunch; most of them were gathered around a television set that hung above the bar. 

The first thing Keny’uu noted was that they were all Westerners -- Americans to be precise. The next thing he noticed was the telecast that had their rapt attention. It was grainy footage showing a birds-eye view of a lodge surrounded by snow-covered trees. The hair on his neck stood on end for a second until he told himself if the commotion were above this lodge, he would have heard the helicopter’s blades beating overhead. 

A hollow pit formed in his stomach as he listened to the news announcer. She was reporting live about a terrorist incident by whom she described as the ‘five remaining members of the Red Army.’ Police negotiators were trying to secure the release of the sole hostage, the caretaker’s wife, who’d been alone when the rebels had come upon the inn. 

The crowd around the television murmured among themselves as they read the hastily translated English that scrolled along the bottom of the screen. The guests were nervous because the lodge -- a far more traditional one  -- was very near this one. Fortunately, it had been closed for the season, or the rebels would have had many more hostages to bargain with, and if fate had been shining upon them, they would have included some Americans. 

When he’d fled the Red Army, their ranks had still numbered near twenty, so Keny’uu wasn’t too concerned about which of the rebels had splintered off; he was more concerned about who may have remained holed up in their mountain hideaway, biding their time. That question was answered soon enough as image after image of the other members was flashed on the screen, each with a caption indicating that he had been captured. Keny’uu felt a strange sense of satisfaction that he’d gotten the hell away from them when he had. 

“My father says they aren’t bad men.” A voice at his elbow startled Keny’uu. He peered down at a blond boy who couldn’t have been more than six. He looked up at Keny’uu with soulful eyes that seemed too big for his little face. Next to him was the wolf-dog Keny’uu thought he’d imagined. It gazed at him with guarded indifference.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s your father?”

The boy stared at Keny’uu as if he’d grown another head.

“Ah, I see you’ve both met.” Koumyou’s warm voice greeted Keny’uu. “Kouryuu, go fetch your cousin Ukoku a bowl of curry.”

The boy hesitated for a second, as if he needed to reach his own decision. Then he ambled toward the kitchen, the wolf-dog obediently following. 

“As far as the guests are concerned, you’re my nephew, Ukoku,” Koumyou explained. “Your appearance caused quite a stir.”

“Did I say something inappropriate?” Keny’uu wondered out loud. In his delirium he could have already spilled the beans. Or said something terrifically embarrassing about Koumyou’s attractiveness.

Koumyou cocked his head to one side. “Guilty conscience?” he asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Who’s the kid?” Keny’uu parried, changing the subject.

“Kouryuu? He’s my son,” Koumyou said, leading Keny’uu to a table away from the other guests. He should have guessed that Koumyou had extra baggage. 

“He and you have a lot in common,” Koumyou added.

It was Keny’uu’s turn to tilt his head.

“I found him, too. Floating in a basket in the stream that runs behind the inn.”

“Do you make a habit out of collecting strays?”

Koumyou chortled a reply. His laughter did funny things to Keny’uu’s stomach, and it made him squirm in his seat. 

“What makes you so sure you’re a stray? There must be someone looking for you.” He held Keny’uu in his gaze, wearing an expectant expression. Fortunately, Keny’uu was relieved from answering Koumyou.

One of the guests came over and pulled him away, but not far enough that Keny’uu wasn’t able to eavesdrop. From the conversation, Keny’uu found that the inn was in a lockdown of sorts; none of the guests were allowed to leave the property. Normally the nearby ski resorts would be humming with activity, but they’d been closed for the duration of the hostage crisis. The patrons were not very happy about it, and this one was pressing Koumyou for a reduction on his bill. Koumyou was understanding but firm. He explained patiently that he’d already taken as much as he was able to off every guest’s bill. The other man, who towered over Koumyou and outweighed him by at least 30 kilos, became louder and louder, seeming to think that would get him his way.

Koumyou was unflappable even as Keny’uu felt his own anger rising. It was guys like this -- obnoxious foreigners who acted as if the rest of the world was their playground -- who made some of Hiroka’s ideas seem sane. 

Other guests were now watching; the only thing that could break their concentration on the drama on the television was one unfolding in real life. He was sure the big guy was going to strike Koumyou. His wife, a petite little thing, now tried to intervene. Goliath swatted her aside. 

Koumyou was neither intimidated by the American’s bulk nor his bluster, even as he turned red in the face as he continued his tirade mere centimeters from Koumyou’s. Spittle was flying from the corners of his mouth. Koumyou’s English was impeccable as he calmly reasoned with the unreasonable man.

And then something remarkable happened. The American raised his hand against Koumyou, but before he was able to land a blow, Koumyou’s arm shot out and he caught the man’s hand. A collective gasp went through the crowd. Without thinking, Keny’uu bolted from his seat ready for a fight.

“It’s okay, Ukoku, I can handle this.” Koumyou addressed Keny’uu without a glance in his direction. Something weird was going on between Koumyou and the guest. The large man’s arm began to tremble, then it quivered violently. Koumyou’s grip never wavered. It was clear he was much stronger than the bigger man. Suddenly the man gave up the fight; he seemed to deflate before Keny’uu’s eyes. Koumyou released his hand and the man walked away without another word. The tension in the room subsided and the other guests returned their attention to the television set. 

Keny’uu returned to his seat and contemplated what had just happened and his own reaction to it. It wasn’t like him to get involved in someone else’s business. But he did owe Koumyou for saving his life. 

From his vantage point, Keny’uu had a full view of the television set and he could follow the events as they unfolded. He found himself rooting for the cops, if only to see Hiroka carted away in handcuffs. He’d never really been an enthusiastic terrorist; he’d only hooked up with the Red Army because they’d been active on campus and he’d had nothing better to do. And now he could watch all of Hiroka’s plans fall apart in spectacular fashion on live TV from the comfort of an onsen not that far away, run by a crazy fool who, nonetheless, Keny’uu found captivating.

He didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it, and he was confident he couldn’t be traced to the Red Army because he’d left all his identification behind at his parents’ house. Keny’uu smiled to himself; his fortunes had certainly taken a turn for the better.

After a while Koumyou’s boy reappeared; he walked across the room slowly, gingerly carrying the bowl so as not to spill a drop. Keny’uu had the irrational urge to trip him and imagined him wearing the meal; he managed to stop himself; the fantasy was enough.

The kid must have sensed his intentions because he stepped back from the table like he was burned.

“Where’s your mommy?” Keny’uu asked. The boy just stared at him for a few seconds. “You know it’s not polite to stare.” Keny’uu wondered if there was something wrong with him mentally. Then he realized the kid was sizing him up.

“It’s just me and father.”

“Father and _me_ ,” Keny’uu corrected. He laughed at the double meaning. Kouryuu made a sour face and the dog, who’d been dutifully following him, whined.

“What’s your dog’s name?” Keny’uu asked before he slurped some of the curry. He was ravenous and turned his attention to his meal.

“Dog. Father found him one day in the woods.”

Keny’uu nearly snorted curry from his nose.

“What’s so funny?” Kouryuu asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Keny’uu replied smugly, knowing it would get under the kid’s skin. When Kouryuu realized Keny’uu wasn’t going to share his joke, he huffed away.

Koumyou came by a little while later.

"You know, it's guys like that that give the rebels ammunition," Keny'uu said, pointing his chin at the television screen.

Koumyou gave him a cold look. "You believe in their cause?"

"It has some merit."

"You think that Japan should isolate, then."

"I think that we shouldn't have to deal with arrogant foreigners who think nothing of exploiting our resources and treating us like dogs."

"Is that how you see it. I have a different viewpoint. I have a PhD too, only mine is in economics."

"Wait, how--"

"You mentioned it yesterday. You're very proud of your accomplishment, as you should be. But you need to apply what you've learned in school. Use all that critical thinking you needed to succeed in your studies." 

"How so?'

"Think about it, Ukoku. Japan has prospered over the past twenty years. Our goods, especially electronics, are the best in the world. Exports are at an all time high. But the US President Nixon is going to open up trade with China."

"China is still in the stone age. Our economy is second only to the United States." 

"But China has something Japan doesn't.” Koumyou paused. Keny’uu refused to take the bait. “A billion people. How long do you think it will take them to become consumers? Or producers, for that matter.”

"I don’t get it. That's why you cater to foreigners? Because you’re afraid of China?"

“I’m not ‘afraid of China’; I run a small business catering to tourists in the Japanese Alps. But what I recognize is that communism belongs in the past. I cater to these foreigners you despise because their money spends just as well as native Japanese. But more than that, they come here because they want to experience something authentic, but not so exotic as to be completely strange to them. So, yes, I have western meals on my menus and signs written in English, but I’ll tell you what. More often than not, after a couple of days, they’re ordering some of the traditional fare and using honorifics. And they come back. Each time a little more comfortable with our culture. And what is the cost to me? A little pageantry now and then,” he said, rustling the silks of his kimono.

Keny’uu grimaced. Koumyou made no sense at all! Actually half of what he said _was_ brilliant, but the other half -- his idea of winning the hearts and minds of tourists -- was utter crap.

“You think the chaos they offer is a better solution?” Koumyou glanced at the television screen. “They have no plan for the future, no vision for what Japan would look like without global markets. They’re just full of vinegar for the present. In order for this government to be able to help its people, it needs to rely on the United States and the rest of the west to buy our gadgets and our automobiles.”

Keny’uu shrugged. He couldn’t argue that point.

“What the Red Army represents, if they succeed, is a step toward the stone age. They think they’re revolutionary? They’re reactionary. There’s no room for Communism in a global economy. And mark my words, _that_ is the future. Trade barriers will fall.”

Keny’uu scoffed at that. “And you think China’s going to become a democracy?”

“Politically, no. Nothing short of violence will unseat that regime. But the economy is going to loosen up. Someone in the regime sees that potential or the US President would have never been able to go there.”

Keny’uu was reaching the edges of his patience. “If you’re so smart, why aren’t you a Cabinet member?”

“I’m an economist. Not a politician.”

“An economist who runs an inn in the middle of nowhere,” Keny’uu snorted.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“You’re too stupid to be insulted.” Keny’uu was sure that would get a rise out of Koumyou. He was both right and wrong.

“Says the boy who ran away from the Red Army.”

Keny’uu froze, and at that point he realized he’d probably never get the upper hand against Koumyou. Under different circumstances he would have delighted in trying, but in that moment, he felt bitterly betrayed, along with a healthy dollop of embarrassment. He stared at Koumyou sullenly, feeling hot in the face, then said flatly, “Thanks for the meal.”

He didn’t wait for Koumyou’s reply. He got up and stalked out of the dining room. As he passed through the doorway, he realized belatedly that, like the other guests, he was trapped. He didn’t even have his clothes, which were no match for the frigid weather anyway.

Keny'uu wandered down a short hallway toward a brightly lit doorway. He stepped into an indoor communal bath that was currently uninhabited. A wall of windows looked out onto a small river; a black line snaking through chalk-hills of snow. Against the near wall was a raised pool. The sign on the wall read in several languages: "This is not a bath, it is a koi pond. No bathing / No coins."

Keny'uu peered over the edge. There were a dozen or so fat, multicolored fish, and a carpet of coins decorated the bottom. So much for polite signs. He watched the fish swimming in lazy circles, working on his next move. He had two choices: demand his clothes and take his chances against the elements again or wait for Koumyou to summon the police; both were equally unpalatable. 

Keny’uu sat back and leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and one leg swinging freely. Koumyou’s parting shot stung deeply, not only because he revealed that he’d known about Keny’uu’s association with the rebels. It was his use of the word ‘boy’ that grated the most. It spoke volumes about how Koumyou viewed him and it pissed all over the nascent feelings he had toward Koumyou. That was the worst part; Keny’uu knew he was brilliant, his PhD proved it, but he prided himself most on his ability to charm men and women alike.

For a second, Keny’uu thought about finding Koumyou and begging him to let him stay on, but his stubbornness held him in place. He sat there, the silence only interrupted by the fish surfacing from time to time, and watched the shadows shift across the floor. It was only when he heard the approach of footsteps that Keny’uu glanced up, hopefully.

It wasn’t Koumyou, it was just a guest who’d managed to pull himself away from the live feed on the television.

Keny’uu sat there long enough to make the man feel uncomfortable, then decided to explore the inn further and find another place to seek refuge.

*  *  *

The building was a rambling structure with circular hallways; on several occasions Keny’uu found himself heading back toward the main dining room where the newscast continued to preempt the regularly scheduled programs, and he now understood the necessity of the signs posted at every intersection.

At one point he ducked himself outside into a sheltered courtyard to get a closer look at a raised, vaguely circular onsen that was about 3 meters across, only to find that it was made from the hollowed-out cross-section of a huge tree. That was how Keny’uu found how the Inn got its name. When his teeth began to chatter from the cold, he stepped back inside, wondering how the hell the trunk had made its way to Japan. He was sure if he looked hard enough there would be some explanatory sign somewhere.

He also managed to find his way back to Koumyou’s living space, and though it was empty, he had no desire to sit and wait for sentencing. After opening several doors along the corridor leading away from that wing of the building, Keny’uu stumbled upon a library of sorts. Glancing at the haphazard shelves he saw books in several different languages and figured that many of them had been left by previous guests. He heard a soft footfall behind him.

“I’ve been looking for you, Ukoku.”

Keny’uu took a breath and turned around to face his executioner.  “And here you’ve found me.”

“I owe you an apology. I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

Keny’uu shrugged it off. Inwardly he felt as if the tide might be changing in his favor again.

“What happens now? Have you called the police yet?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t intend to,” Koumyou replied evenly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve made mistakes in my past and had the benefit of being able to learn from them without the interference of the law. It would make me a hypocrite.”

Keny’uu wondered what Koumyou could have done that he would equate their crimes. For a second he entertained finding out. He had a feeling it was a secret Koumyou intended to take to the grave.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I really don’t get you,” he said finally.

“There’s not that much to ‘get.’”

Keny’uu smirked. “I figured you’d say something like that.”

Koumyou returned Keny’uu’s grin with a wide smile.  Keny’uu saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the kid.

“Father, the police are here,” he announced.

The smile faded from Koumyou’s face, it morphed briefly into a look of shrewd calculation before that was replaced with a peaceful expression that got under Keny’uu’s skin.

“Kouryuu, go and tell them I will be right there. Ukoku, you stay right here.”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere in this,” he snapped.

Koumyou graced him with a withering gaze that made Keny’uu feel like he was ten. “Then settle in and act as if you belong here. You’re my nephew, remember, from Sapporo. You came here to escape the crowds at the Olympics,” he said, striding out of the room.

Surprisingly, Koumyou managed to pull off a majestic air of authority, even dressed as he was in his feminine kimono. Keny’uu felt compelled to follow his orders.

Alone now, Keny’uu skirted a low, free-form couch that was positioned in the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves occupied three walls of the room, the fourth was created by windows that looked out over a valley created by the downward slope of the mountain. A deciduous forest dotted with conifers covered the landscape. He caught himself wondering what it would look like in fall, when the trees would be lit on fire with the changing colors of their leaves.

Against his better instincts, Keny’uu believed he could trust Koumyou, not that he had much choice. As the minutes ticked away, though, he began to relax. The more time passed, the less likely it seemed that Koumyou was setting him up.

Facing the window was an antique writing desk, and strewn over it were several crayon drawings. The sight of them stirred something inside Keny’uu; a sense of longing that he immediately disavowed. He eyed the images dispassionately; they were nothing special, he decided.  Koumyou, however, was special. Keny’uu felt drawn to him helplessly, almost against his will, not that he had much will when it came to carnal matters. In fact, Keny’uu had never been that discerning about his sex partners -- male or female -- but he’d never been attracted to a man twice his age before. His first lover had been a 30-odd-year-old housewife, though, and she’d also worn her hair in a long braid, so maybe that was it.

But that was selling Koumyou short. Keny’uu liked the way Koumyou kept him guessing and was able to effortlessly throw him off balance. Koumyou could be a challenge; he’d certainly a challenge to seduce, Keny’uu decided. A delightful challenge. Keny’uu decided that before he took his leave of the Redwood Inn, he’d get Koumyou in bed. The thought of balling Koumyou, his hair loose and fanned out over the pillows, made Keny’uu’s dick swell, tenting in his robe. The thought of having him in the redwood onsen made it achingly hard. He got comfortable on the couch and decided to do something about it. 

That’s how Koumyou, with the police in tow, found him.

“Ukoku, the police have some questions …” Koumyou’s voice died out when he saw what Keny’uu was doing. He cleared his throat and then addressed the police officer standing next to him. “I’m sorry, he’s a little soft in the head, as you can see.”

The officer’s face slowly turned darkened to a beet red as his brain processed where Keny’uu’s hand was and what it had been doing. 

“Y-y-yes, yes!” he stuttered. “I’ll tell my captain that the inn is secure and everyone is accounted for!” He backed out of the doorway and beat a hasty retreat. Koumyou lingered at the door for a second, shook his head then closed the door behind. To Keny’uu’s mind, he looked at him just a second past decent, and Keny’uu was sure he saw the hint of a smile on the corner of Koumyou’s lips before the door shut.

Under different circumstances, Keny’uu might have been embarrassed, but he was far too amused to care. The look on the poor cop’s face was priceless. He squeezed his dick in a long stroke, and he came quickly after that, imagining Koumyou’s mouth engulfing him and swallowing his cum. He cleaned himself up with some tissues from a box on the low table in front of the couch and then lay down.

A knock preceded Koumyou’s next appearance. This time he was alone.

“You have an interesting way of avoiding interrogation.”

“I’m not as good of a liar as you are. I can’t confabulate a story on the fly. Sapporo? Do I look like a country bumpkin?” 

“You act enough like one.”

“Then I should fit in just fine here, shouldn’t I?”

Koumyou was silent for a few seconds before he asked, “You’d like to stay on?”

“I’ve got nothing else going on.”

“I can’t afford to pay you.”

“I bet we can work something out.” Keny’uu waggled his eyebrows.

Koumyou’s expression became opaque. “It’s not easy work.”

“I’ve bussed and waited tables before, and I’m pretty handy, you know.”

“I’ve already seen that.”

Keny’uu let that comment slide; he’d already scored a couple of points in his favor. He didn’t want to press his advantage, or his luck.

*  *  *

In the days that followed, Keny’uu continued to share Koumyou’s bed with him, but any chance of half-asleep hanky-panky was thwarted by a wall of pillows that Koumyou erected between them. Keny’uu didn’t let that complication divert him from his mission, however. 

Even though he had a full staff, Koumyou found work for Keny’uu to do. For the most part it was odd jobs -- leaky faucets, scuff marks, stains -- the kinds of things that fell through the cracks because they weren’t on anyone’s job descriptions. Keny’uu didn’t mind the work because he was left on his own and he didn’t need anyone nosing about, asking him questions about his background. Koumyou came to check up on him often under the pretense of making sure everything was okay. At first, Keny’uu was insulted, but he soon realized that these, too, were opportunities for him to further his cause. So, he didn’t miss an opportunity to brush a little too close to Koumyou or to turn an innocent phrase into something that could be read as far more sexual. Koumyou blatantly ignored Keny’uu’s machinations, but Keny’uu could tell that they weren’t going unnoticed. He often caught Koumyou looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Rather than call him out on it, Keny’uu checked off those instances as evidence he was making headway.

As the hostage crisis stretched on, Koumyou made arrangements to transport his guests off the mountain and back to Matsumoto, the nearest city with a significant population, where they could make travel arrangements to return home. He also spent a good deal of time on the telephone working out alternatives for the guests that would have started to arrive for their holidays. The entire region, known for its world-class ski slopes and medicinal hot springs, usually bustled with tourists throughout the winter months, was slowly and methodically being evacuated in order to further isolate the rebels. As soon as the guests had safely reached Matsumoto he furloughed the rest of his staff, giving them each two weeks’ vacation time.

As the week drew to a close without a resolution to the hostage crisis, it was just the three of them -- Koumyou, Kouryuu, and Keny’uu -- left behind in the inn. It didn’t feel empty though; if anything, it felt even more intimate. Kouryou was a good kid for the most part, even if he did seem a bit overprotective of his father. He didn’t require a lot of attention, though, and for that, Keny’uu was thrilled.

The television stations were still devoting the bulk of their airtime to the crisis; the rest of the time they were covering the preparations and the pomp and circumstance of the impending opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics. It was a weird dichotomy. Keny’uu would glance at the coverage of the crisis disinterestedly; even though it was only a week old and a few kilometers away, it seemed like another lifetime to him. 

The week dragged on. Keny’uu became frustrated in his attempts to seduce Koumyou. The incremental successes had plateaued, but that hadn’t stopped his libido. His mind raced with fantasies of where he could corner Koumyou and have his way with him. Lying awake at night, he thought about tossing the pillows aside, pinning Koumyou down and jumping his bones. Relaxing in the onsen pool, he fantasized about holding Koumyou in his lap and burying his cock deep inside. He thought about them fucking, nearly weightless in the water.   
Koumyou was an elusive prey and that only made Keny’uu more obsessed with having him. He thought a more direct approach was in order. He just needed to find the right opening.

*  *  *

“They’re not going to kill the woman,” Koumyou said one evening as they sat in two chairs that faced the fireplace in the dining room. It was late, Kouryuu had been put to bed hours ago, the fire had burned down to embers, and Keny’uu had been mulling over a conversation-starter. They were broadcasting a grainy picture on the television. The police had decided to come at the lodge with a wrecking ball in order to gain entry.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“They’ve had her for nearly two weeks and she’s still alive, someone’s grown attached to her.”

“You don’t know how inhuman Hiroka can be.”

“The leader?”

“Yeah.”

Koumyou sniffed. “He’s only a boy in the end. Maybe he just needed a mother figure.”

Ukoku lowered his face to his hands, then looked up between his fingers. “I think you should stick to the economy.”

“I’m not a good judge of character?” Koumyou’s grin was entrancing. “I’m speaking as a father now. Those boys were spoiled rotten. They haven’t a clue as to how good they’ve had it. They all come from upper middle-class families. They wanted for nothing and want to take everything away from others.”

“Is that what you’d say to me?” Keny’uu asked, once again feeling the sting of the word ‘boy.’

Koumyou looked at Keny’uu and Keny’uu felt as if he were being noticed for the first time. Since he’d closed the inn, Koumyou had stopped wearing kimonos, he was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that skimmed his whipcord thin body. Keny’uu liked this look much better. 

“I don’t think of you as my son,” Koumyou said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Keny’uu swallowed hard. “How do you think of me?”

“I’m twice your age.”

“I don’t care, why should you?”

“I don’t know.”

Keny’uu slid out of his chair and knelt in front of Koumyou. He pushed his knees apart and slid his hands up Koumyou’s muscular thighs and pressed them into the creases formed by his lap. 

Koumyou didn’t move. Keny’uu took that as an invitation. He slid his hands under Koumyou’s sweater and unfastened the button at Koumyou’s waist. He stopped and waited for a signal from Koumyou. Looking up, he saw Koumyou’s face dark with desire. Koumyou reached for Keny’uu’s glasses, folded them neatly and laid them on the table next to his chair. Keny’uu unzipped Koumyou’s jeans. Koumyou’s dick sprung free, still growing in length and girth. Keny’uu blew on the ruddy flesh.

“Ukoku, please.”

Keny’uu grinned. His own dick strained against his jeans. Koumyou canted his hips, bringing his dick closer to Keny’uu’s lips. He licked the tip and tasted Koumyou’s salty precum, then sat back on his heels, waiting expectantly.

“Please, what?” he teased. 

Koumyou took a ragged breath. “Please suck me.”

He was fully hard when Keny’uu took him into his mouth and swallowed him to the root. Koumyou groaned, and the breathy quality of his voice churned butterflies in Keny’uu’s stomach. He sucked Koumyou off fervently, the need to be inside Koumyou building with each lick and roll of his tongue. He took Koumyou right up to his pinnacle, then pulled away. Koumyou’s hands were clawing the armchair, his head lolling back and forth, his body trembling beneath Keny’uu’s hands. It gave him a heady rush of power unlike anything he’d ever felt. In that moment, Keny’uu thought he could ask anything of Koumyou.

He stood up and leaned close to Koumyou. “The onsen,” he whispered thinking about the carved redwood trunk just outside the door, then held out his hand.

*  *  * 

By the time they made it to the bed, Keny’uu’s dick was sore and he was exhausted. He thought he was ready to sleep. Koumyou, however, had other ideas; he pushed away the pillows and curled next to Keny’uu. He dipped his head and his tongue swirled around first one then Keny’uu’s other nipple. He felt them tighten into hard peaks as cool air met moist skin.

“Too tired to fuck you again,” he mumbled, but his dick was awakening with interest.

“Then it’s my turn.” Koumyou gently prodded Keny’uu onto his side and prepared him. He made love to Keny’uu in a leisurely fashion, the way someone enjoys dessert after an exquisite meal. They fell asleep, a tangle of limbs, just as the first streaks of dawn warmed the sky.

Keny’uu awakened to a blindingly bright day and to an aroma of home-cooked food that made his mouth water. He stretched lazily and smiled as he recounted the prior evening. It was definitely one for the record books. His stomach rumbled and he dressed quickly in some of the second-hand clothes left by guests over the years that Koumyou had found to fit him. Soon enough, he’d be in his own clothes. Having achieved his goal, Keny’uu was ready to move on, once travellers were allowed to move freely through the region again.

So he was surprised at the mix of emotions he felt when Koumyou greeted him with the news that the hostage crisis had ended. The police had rescued the caretaker’s wife and all the rebels had been captured. Koumyou didn’t gloat about being right, but he did have a strange glow to his skin. Keny’uu thought with some pride that he was the one who did that. Outwardly, it seemed like Koumyou didn’t act any different toward him, but Keny’uu felt a subtle difference. There was an intimacy in place that hadn’t been there before. Koumyou had been deliberately holding him at arm’s length. The kid sensed the shift, too. He stared at Keny’uu balefully. Keny’uu regretted that he wouldn’t be around very long to exploit that. Something about Kouryuu rubbed him the wrong way.

After he’d eaten, Koumyou presented Keny’uu with a list and a set of keys.

“Ukoku, we need to pick up provisions for the kitchen so we can be ready for the next guests. Would you mind running the errand to Matsumoto?” Keny’uu mentally calculated how many hours it would be before Koumyou realized he wasn’t coming back. By that time, he’d have ditched  the car in Tokyo and disappeared into the city.

He took the list. “Sure,” he shrugged.

Koumyou gave him the keys. “Be careful, the roads are icy after sunset.”

*  *  *

It had been too easy, Keny’uu decided. There must be a catch. He was an hour past Matsumoto. He’d passed several patrol cars on the road, but none had given him a second glance. Koumyou’s car was a late model Sunny wagon; it was nondescript and ubiquitous on Japanese roads; it blended right into the scenery. 

Keny’uu would never understand why he turned to look out the passenger window of the Datsun when he picked up Route 20 east of Shiojiri. But at that exact moment, Mount Asama erupted. A plume of smoke and ash burst upward, forming a huge column. Traffic on the highway stopped, and some people got out of their cars to watch the spectacle. The air hummed with the rumble of the distant peak, Keny’uu estimated they were 50 kilometers away, safe from the initial fallout. Koumyou wouldn’t be, though, and he was trapped at the inn since Keny’uu had his car. As molten rock spewed from the crater Keny’uu wondered if he and the kid would try to get away or would their bodies be found in the distant future, lying together in one last embrace.

He paced back and forth along side his car, torn between heading east toward his freedom or turning round and heading toward the volcano.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered, climbing back into the Sunny.

*  *  *

The drive back to the Redwood Inn was a harrowing one and Keny’uu had to make several stops. At each one he managed to convince the police blockading the road that he had to get through to rescue two people who were trapped near the mountain without a car. 

The eruption was becoming more and violent and the low rumble emanating from deep inside it was nearly deafening, when Keny’uu made it back to the turnoff that led to the Redwood Inn. It was pitch black, but his way was illuminate by the glow of wildfires; set off from the incendiary rock that spewed out from its crater.  He spotted several wildfires through the trees as he inched up the drive. Wildlife of every sort were making their way down, darting in front of the car and running past it. 

The inn was dark when he finally arrived and Keny’uu felt his heart in his throat as he realized it was abandoned as he walked toward it. Koumyou had managed to escape. He’d been an idiot to come back for him. Then the door swung open. 

“Ukoku, is that you?”

He closed the distance between them in huge strides and crushed Koumyou in a bear hug. 

“Why on earth did you come back?”

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” he said into Koumyou’s soft hair. Keny’uu wondered if Koumyou had any inkling that he hadn’t planned on coming back. It didn’t matter, though, because he had in the end, against the odds. “We should get going, there’s a lot of fire,” he said.

“We’re all packed.” 

Koumyou disappeared inside and came out with a duffel bag, Kouryuu and Dog. He settled the two them into the back seat and rounded to the driver’s side.

“Well, are you coming along?”

Keny’uu slid into the passenger seat. He felt the ground shaking beneath the car as Koumyou put it into gear. 

“Where are we going?”

“Down.”

Keny’uu tilted his head back and he began to laugh. Perhaps they’d make it down alive, perhaps they wouldn’t. What Keny’uu knew though, was that there wasn’t another place on earth he would rather have been at that moment.


End file.
